


For Want of a Soulmate

by A_Perverted_Romance_Addict



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dominant Harry, Don't copy to another site, F/M, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Powerful Harry Potter, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-01-18 18:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21281408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict/pseuds/A_Perverted_Romance_Addict
Summary: Something odd happened to Harry when Voldemort died. He lost the capacity to feel emotions.Years later, he finds the solution to his problem. Now the question is which approach should he take to get the best result possible for all the involved. After all, people liked to call him ‘saviour’. Therefore, he was going to do his part and save his own soul from emptiness in the process.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Merope Gaunt/Tom Riddle Sr.
Comments: 269
Kudos: 1412
Collections: Harry Potter Goes Away (Time travel/accidents/escapes and others), Memorable, Unusual Bottom, Worhty of a Collection





	1. Emptiness

**Author's Note:**

> You're probably wondering why I'm starting a new story, a new WIP, when there are five others that need updating (and I will update them once I get in the groove again), but this story just came to me and I felt compelled to write it. It is still in the beginning stages and it's hard to predict how many chapters there will be, but I know where I am going with it and what I want to achieve. 
> 
> While I have written the first three chapters, I'm afraid there won't be a set updating schedule, just subscribe to the story if you like it or keep an eye out for the updates on the page under the Harry Potter/Tom Riddle tag. Either way, I hope people find it interesting and entertaining, I for one am having a lot of fun writing it, even if being in Harry's depressive and unfeeling mindset is exhausting. I hope I managed to portray his predicament well.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments. 😄

Harry had always thought that Voldemort’s death was the key to his prosperous, serene and happy life. The prophecy had hinted at it. Dumbledore too, but all three couldn’t have been further from the truth. Voldemort was dead … but he didn’t feel at peace. He didn’t feel happy. He didn’t even feel sad or angry. In fact, he felt perpetually tired and completely hollow, as if nothing mattered.

He thought this … _state_ was temporary … that it would wear off, go away and he would pick things up where he left them before he set out on the hunt for Voldemort’s horcruxes. He was going to finish his education, get a job, have a family and die of old age, but nothing changed. No matter how many months passed by, he still felt tired and empty. Even the simple act of waking and getting up in the morning proved difficult, when nothing about his life interested him anymore.

A month after Voldemort perished for good, Harry started attending sessions with a therapist who diagnosed him with major depressive disorder. He got counselling and antidepressants but neither were effective. He tried a few potions as well, but soon discovered that they were ineffective and that mixing them with antidepressants was an extremely bad idea when he almost died a few days before his eighteenth birthday and had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s where they emptied his stomach and blood of any chemical residue.

As a last resort, he subjected himself to electroconvulsive therapy, but even that didn’t help, if anything … it made everything worse, but instead of being open and honest about it, he faked his improved mental state, if only to stop the treatment that was clearly not helping him at all.

…

When he turned eighteen, he still felt indifferent about everything and everyone around him. He couldn’t care less that he had turned eighteen, he didn’t care for all the presents he got from friends, the Weasleys and fans, the food, the party, nothing. Yet, he knew better than to show it, so he covered it with smiles.

Among the mountain of fan mail, there was a letter from Gringotts, summoning him to take over the Potter property, title and money officially. He didn’t really care that much about it. He was fine with living in his godfather’s house, but he still responded to the letter and presented himself at the bank.

After freeing the dragon locked underground and causing significant damage to the bank itself, the goblins weren’t thrilled to see him, however, business was business and money was money and goblins were first and foremost greedy little creatures and a generous donation in Harry’s name had worked wonders. He still wasn’t welcome, but at least the goblins didn’t look like they wanted to skin him alive, not that he cared.

What he thought would be a quick affair, simply signing a few papers, turned into an immensely insightful event. Before he signed anything, he had to take an in-depth blood test to see if his claim to the title, property and money was justified. As it turned out, he was a suitable heir, but what caught his attention the most was one tiny detail on the parchment where his soulmate’s name was written in blood red ink.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle (Lord Voldemort) (deceased)_

‘Oh,’ was all he thought. There was no other physical or emotional reaction to learning such a shocking thing.

“You don’t seem shocked or otherwise surprised to learn that the Dark Lord was your soulmate, Mr. Potter,” commented the goblin manager overseeing the documentation. “Were you aware of the information?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “I wasn’t aware the man was my soulmate, and I probably would have reacted differently had I been able to feel anything at all, but, as it happens, I feel ‘meh’ about everything and everyone these days.”

“How long have you felt like this?” the goblin inquired warily.

“The moment Voldemort died,” he responded nonchalantly. “I tried different treatments, but nothing worked, magical or non-magical.” An idea occurred to him. “Say … would my predicament have anything to do with his death and the fact that he was my soulmate?”

“Indeed,” the creature concluded gravely. “His death has everything to do with your current predicament, Mr. Potter, and I am afraid you are going to be stuck feeling like this until you die, because losing one’s soulmate is like losing yourself and nothing and nobody can fill the void left behind by a soulmate’s death.”

“I see. Makes sense,” he commented in a flat voice. “Well, what a bummer, I guess. At least now, I know why I feel nothing. That’s also something. Where do I sign so I can go back to my house and sleep?”

The sudden shift in the topic of their conversation, the lack of reaction and emotion on Harry’s part, startled the goblin a bit, but he quickly recovered and presented the legal documents to Harry, who signed them in a heartbeat, waited for the ring indicating his new status in the wizarding world then politely ended the conversation and left.

…

Despite knowing that he was damned to feel empty for the rest of his life, Harry did his best to continue surviving and play the part of the man everyone was accustomed to see. He was so convincing in his acting (he wasn’t sure how or when he had gotten so good at it anyway), that no one suspected anything. He faked sadness and tears when talking about the people lost in the war and he faked happiness and enthusiasm when he was with his friends and family … his godson. He faked disgust and anger when talking about Voldemort and Death Eaters. The only thing he didn’t have to fake was his disinterest in romance and sex.

His friends tried to convince him to give dating a try, but he stood his ground and never involved himself romantically or sexually with anyone. If he didn’t feel inclined when he was still emotionally functional and his soulmate was alive, now he was even less inclined to pursue anything when he was nothing but a shell made of bones, muscle, skin and internal organs.

He knew why his friends and Mrs. Weasley insisted. They wanted him to experience the joy of being with someone, of having a family. A pity he couldn’t tell them the real reason he would never be able to experience it, but he was fine with them being convinced he was what people called asexual and aromantic and letting the issue go.

If only the rest of the wizarding world had been as understanding as them, that would have been lovely, but apparently, there were people who believed they could change his mind on this even when the news became common knowledge thanks to the press.

…

He finished Hogwarts with high grades. Almost as high as Hermione’s. However, instead of immediately entering the Law Enforcement Department at the Ministry, he surprised everyone by becoming a professional Quidditch player.

During the year, the ban he had on Quidditch had been lifted and he gave the sport another go, just to see if he could feel anything, however minuscule, doing what he once loved. And while he was still an excellent flyer and seeker, there was no thrill, no joy in feeling the air hit his face, no excitement in catching the snitch and winning the game. Even so, he ended up accepting an offer from the Chudley Cannons, signed a one-year contract with the team after Hogwarts, and led them to victory.

The team was eager to keep him, but he politely refused and tried being an Auror. After all, he had expressed an interest in the profession, had been offered a place among them due to his war effort and natural proficiency with Defence against the Dark Arts, so maybe by doing what he knew best (fighting criminals) it would get his blood pumping again, make him feel alive. However, during the year he worked as an Auror for the Ministry, he only managed to confirm further that he was nothing more than a living corpse, because nothing affected him as it used to.

Prior to Voldemort’s death, he would have felt anger and disgust hearing and witnessing injustice, torture, and oppression. He would have felt sick seeing the mutilated bodies of victims he encountered in his cases, but now he felt nothing. He felt completely indifferent to the suffering of others.

He didn’t feel pity or sympathy for the people he helped just as he felt no anger or disgust towards the criminals he was putting behind bars. The only thing he tried to uphold was law and order regardless of how it emotionally influenced the people involved. However, since he couldn’t let people become suspicious of his lack of emotions, he faked appropriate emotions and reactions depending on the situation.

However, no matter how much he tried to fake vomiting, he simply couldn’t bring himself to puke when faced with the most gruesome states of some of the corpses he encountered. Maybe that was why he spent the last few months of his one-year contract analysing and dissecting barely recognisable corpses for evidence.

After his one-year employment ended, instead of renewing his contract, he spoke to McGonagall, who was the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, and asked her for the DADA teaching position since the current DADA professor was on maternity leave for a year.

…

On New Year’s Eve, Harry requested a private conversation with Dumbledore’s portrait to clear some of his doubts. He supposed that now that the war was over, the man could tell him everything without problems.

“Harry, my boy,” he greeted him. “What a surprise. I heard you are the substitute DADA professor while Mrs. Hart is on maternity leave. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Good evening, Professor,” he greeted back. “I was wondering if you could tell me something.”

“If it’s within my knowledge, most certainly,” he said grandfatherly. “Ask away.” He smiled.

“It’s about Voldemort, sir.”

Dumbledore’s smile immediately fell away. “What about him, Harry?”

“When I turned eighteen, I was summoned to Gringotts to sign some papers … you know, family property, title and finances. However, in order to sign them, I had to take some detailed blood test and the test said that … I had a soulmate.” He paused for a bit. “That Voldemort was my soulmate, Professor.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened.

“My question to you is, were you aware of that piece of information or were you as clueless as I was?”

“No, Harry,” he shook his head ever so slightly. “I didn’t know. I doubt anyone knew … not even your parents.”

He nodded. “And had you known, Professor?” he pressed further. “Had you known we were soulmates … would you have done anything differently?”

Dumbledore’s portrait fell silent. Harry took that as a no, but just as he was about to excuse himself and leave, the man in the painting spoke again. “I don’t know, Harry. Maybe … maybe not. Your soulmate or not, Voldemort was still a dangerous individual that had to be stopped.”

“What about Grindelwald, Professor?” asked Harry impassively. “He was also a very dangerous man that had to be stopped, yet as far as I know he was imprisoned and not killed. Why was he alive and why did Voldemort have to die?”

Dumbledore left out a sigh and he didn’t dare look Harry in the eye. “I didn’t have the heart to do it,” he confessed. “For all the pain and destruction he had caused, I couldn’t kill him.”

“Why?” Harry insisted flatly.

It took the former headmaster a few moments to answer. “Because I loved him.”

“Why wasn’t I able to recognise my true connection to Voldemort? I should have been able to feel some sort of attraction or desire for him.”

“Oh, I think you did,” he said, smirking mischievously and winking at him. “You were his horcrux after all. You shared thoughts and feelings. When we were reviewing the memories that featured him, I’m sure you noticed his good looks and felt attracted to him, I’m also quite certain that you felt sympathy for his situation at the orphanage.”

Harry thought back to all his interactions with Voldemort and whenever he saw him as Tom Marvolo Riddle in the form of a diary or memory, he couldn’t help but think how handsome he was and he did feel something akin to attraction, desire, perhaps even arousal. However, it had been so long since he felt those things that his memory wasn’t able to supply the exact sensations anymore and even if it could, he probably wouldn’t have felt anything either way.

“I suppose, but still … at no point did I have a revelation that it was anything else. Or Voldemort for that matter. Why? Aren’t soulmates meant to recognise each other as such since they apparently can’t function normally without one another?”

“I am afraid I don’t hold the answer to that, my boy,” lamented Dumbledore. “Perhaps reading about the subject might give you the answer you seek.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you for your time, Professor. And your answers.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. I only wish I had been more helpful. I hope you find the answers you seek.”

“Me too.” He turned to leave, when the portrait spoke to him.

“Oh, and Harry,” he called after him. Harry stopped, but didn’t turn. “Take care of yourself.”

…

Harry spent most of his free time researching soulmates, trying to understand why neither he nor Voldemort had recognised each other as soulmates. Yet no matter how much he read, he didn’t get an answer to his question. Mostly because there wasn’t much written on soulmates to begin with, since there weren’t many studies conducted in the field to provide a generalisation or representation of the phenomenon, but apparently there were several types of soulmate bonds. There was the romantic soulmate bond, the platonic soulmate bond and the familial soulmate bond.

The first one, as the name suggested, bound two individuals as a couple, the second one bound two individuals as best friends and the last one bound two completely unrelated people together as family. The bonds were forged no matter the age or gender and could last a lifetime or an eternity. However, while having the bond in place was a good start for different kinds of relationships between people, simply being soulmates wasn’t enough to forge anything meaningful if there was no interaction between them. Even those who actively hated or disliked each other could forge a relationship, albeit one based on mutual hatred.

No matter the type of bond, the individuals who had outlived their friends, ‘family’ and partners had all reported losing the capacity to feel emotions to some extent and feeling empty, hollow or incomplete. The intensity of the feeling depended on a number of things, such as the type of bond, the rapport between soulmates and the time they knew each other.

Evaluating their situation, Harry speculated that while he wasn’t sure into which category their bond fell (because it could have been any of the three really), the intensity and the duration of him being unable to feel genuine emotions testified in favour of it being a romantic bond rather than a platonic or a familial one. Add to that the fact that Voldemort and he knew each other for at least seven years, during which they both disliked and worked against one another, but also came to learn a lot about the other, had been able to see into each other’s minds and feel what the other was feeling, and it was a deep enough connection to form a once-in-a-lifetime bond with each other.

He decided to give his condition another year or two to improve and if he remained as he was, then he was going to kill himself.


	2. Finding a Solution

During Easter break, he attended his best friends’ wedding. A few months later, he attended Ginny’s wedding with Dean. Soon after that, Neville’s wedding with Hannah Abbot, then Luna’s with Rolf Scamander. George married Angelina.

Everyone around him was getting married and starting families. His godson Teddy was growing up fast too. Everyone was happy, in love. Everyone had the ability to cry tears of joy or sadness. They could laugh genuinely; get angry, scared, disgusted. Everyone but him it would seem and if he could, he would have felt envious.

…

A year later, Angelina, Hermione and Luna announced their pregnancies and in the span of twelve months, all three of them gave birth. Angelina gave birth to a boy that they named Fred, in honour of his uncle. Luna gave birth to twin boys, Lorcan and Lysander, and Hermione gave birth to a girl Ron and she named Rose.

In between weddings, baby showers and babies being born, two years had passed and Harry’s condition hadn’t improved one bit. At twenty-three, six years had passed since Voldemort’s death and Harry was actively contemplating suicide.

There was a part of his brain telling him to wait another year to see if it would make a difference. He postponed it for a year. It didn’t make a difference. Maybe eleven would be the magical number because that was approximately how long Voldemort had known Harry before Harry learnt about Voldemort too. The eleventh anniversary of Voldemort’s death came and nothing changed.

Well ... that wasn’t entirely true. Some things did change, like more often times than not he had a beard and his regular gym visits resulted in his body becoming muscular, though not overly so. He tried a couple of new jobs, like being a photographer, which allowed him to travel the world, but not even nature or magnificent monuments from different historical periods moved him.

As a last resort to find his humanity, he became a hitman and started killing on demand. In his mind, he thought committing murder would wake something inside him, overwhelm him with disgust and self-loathing for taking another person’s life in exchange for money, but not even murder made him human again. If anything, it made him an efficient predator who stalked his prey and struck from the shadows swiftly and silently, making everything look like an unfortunate accident rather than murder. He didn’t discriminate. Anyone with a bounty on their head was fair game, even children.

Speaking of children, Teddy had turned eleven and his Hogwarts letter had arrived. They shopped together with his grandmother and he accompanied him to the platform nine and three quarters.

At school, the boy was sorted into Hufflepuff and he regularly sent him letters detailing his Hogwarts experience. As Yule approached, all Teddy would talk about was being back home and spending the holidays with his grandmother and godfather.

Unfortunately, Harry wouldn’t be there to share joy with his godson … for he planned to kill himself and end his miserable existence once and for all.

…

He half-expected to see Dumbledore again like that time when he let Voldemort cast the killing curse at him in the Forbidden Forest, but instead of him he saw a cloaked skeletal figure.

“Who are you?” he questioned, unfazed. Apparently not even death could change some things.

“Who do you think I am?” the entity answered with another question. And … was that a tinge of amusement in its deep voice?

“Judging by the appearance, I would say a physical manifestation of Death,” replied Harry.

“In that case, I am glad to inform you that your judgment and observation skills are accurate.”

“Does that mean that I am finally going to die for good?” he asked, almost impressed. “No weird shit like the last time I was supposed to die but had the option to come back to life?”

“I’m afraid you’re cursed with immortality,” said Death.

Harry stared at the entity. “What?” he said dumbly after a long while.

“It all has to do with the Hallows, you see,” explained Death. “You collected all three and thus became the mythical ‘Master of Death’, although, not really. You just gained immortality until you get tired of it.”

Harry let out a heavy sigh and lay staring at the white sky of the afterlife. “Wonderful,” he deadpanned. “Simply wonderful. There’s nothing more exciting than learning I can’t die when all I want is to do just that.”

“Oh, I know, and I’ve been waiting for you to ‘kill’ yourself to inform you of your immortality.”

“So there’s no way for me to die unless I renounce ownership of the Hallows?”

“Correct.”

“And if I renounce my immortality, will I be able to feel again when I do die for real next time?”

“Well …” hesitated Death, “while you would be able to reincarnate I am afraid your future would not be bright.”

“Why?”

“It has to do with the bond you share with Tom, you see,” explained Death enigmatically. “It’s permanent, although at first it wasn’t. It was only meant to last one lifetime, but when he inadvertently made you his horcrux, he made the temporary soulmate bond permanent.”

“If it’s permanent, why would you say that my future as a reincarnated soul would not be bright? I mean … both Voldemort and I would be reincarnated. Say, did you already reincarnate him? Will you reincarnate him soon?”

“I’m sorry, Harry.”

“Why are you apologising?”

“Because Tom’s soul will never be able to reincarnate. Tom’s soul doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing of him was left behind for me to collect,” Death explained.

Harry sat up and stared wide-eyed at Death. “How is that possible?” he whispered. For the first time in over eleven years, he felt pain in his chest at those words. He reached out for Death’s cloak and clung to it. “Don’t … don’t tell me that by destroying his horcruxes, I’ve irreparably destroyed him. Tell me there’s some sort of ritual that can bring him back. Tell me I can still get him back.”

He begged, despair consuming him from within. Tears clouded his vision and violent sobs tore from his throat and wrecked his body as he struggled to breathe. A hand clenched his chest and found a gaping hole the size of a fist in the middle of it.

“Moving forward, there’s nothing you can do to get him back,” Death informed him and a broken sound escaped Harry’s lips. “However …” continued the entity, “moving backward, there’s a chance you might get the opportunity to be with your soulmate.”

His crying stopped and he looked up at Death with a tear-stricken face. “Are you suggesting … what I think you’re suggesting?” he whispered cautiously.

Death smirked. “Well, what do you think I’m suggesting, Harry?”

“Time travel.”

“Then yes, I’m suggesting what you think I’m suggesting,” he replied with a snicker.

“But how?” wondered Harry, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. “There are no Time-Turners left and even if there were any, one cannot time travel so many decades back, as far as I know, anyway.”

“You don’t need a Time-Turner,” assured him Death. “Not you at least, given that you now have free access to yours truly. Simply tell me when you want to travel and to which specific moment in time and I will make it happen.”

“You can do that?” he asked half-sceptical, half-awestruck.

“Of course I can,” said Death indignantly. “I am not constrained by time and space. I am omnipresent and eternal. I am absolute.”


	3. The Ultimate Plan

“And what’s the catch?” Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I doubt you would just let me go back in time to change the course of history itself just so I could be with my soulmate. There must be something you would gain out of this entire arrangement and I want to know what it is.”

A skeletal hand flew to his chest. “You wound me with your distrust,” he said melodramatically.

“I apologise, but I don’t feel particularly trusting right now,” he retorted. “You can hardly blame me.” He crossed his arms over his hollowed chest. “So … what is it that you want in exchange for letting me time travel and mess with history?”

“You may find it hard to believe, and I don’t blame you for being wary of my intentions, but in truth I seek nothing but entertainment. And as your humble and faithful ‘servant’,” he waved dramatically with his arm and bowed in mock humility, “it is my duty to ensure your happiness, ‘Master’.”

Harry snorted in disbelief. “My happiness, huh?”

“Aye. It just so happens that your happiness depends on the existence of Tom Marvolo Riddle and the only way of recovering his soul is through time travel. Now,” he added hurriedly, “I do have some rules for you to follow. Don’t worry. It’s nothing outrageous or impossible.”

“I knew there was a catch,” sighed Harry.

“While you can and will meddle with history, I would appreciate if you didn’t meddle with global historical events such as World War II and Grindelwald’s terror,” said Death. “If it doesn’t directly endanger or involve your soulmate’s life, leave things take their natural course.”

“What about other people important to me, such as family and friends? Am I not allowed to intervene should any of them be endangered?” Harry wanted to know. It was true that, without his soulmate, he was doomed to eternal emptiness, but he still wanted the people that died in the two wars with Voldemort to live or at least die of natural causes.

“You can intervene,” Death assured him, “but again, try to limit your intervention as much as possible.”

Harry nodded. “Any other rule I should follow?”

“I suppose it goes without saying that absolutely no one can know that you are a time traveller, not even your soulmate. _Ever_,” he emphasised gravely. “Not that the fact will matter once things change and the future you know ceases to exist, but still I would advise caution on that front.”

“I will keep that in mind and not divulge the information to anyone,” assured him Harry.

“Excellent. Now, I also assume that once in the past you will remain there and live out your life as you see fit. Even with you not revealing your nature as a time traveller from the future, the laws of nature and time might have to intervene in your ‘birth’ to avoid any paradoxes.”

“Meaning?” he frowned.

“That there can’t be two Harry Potters with the same genes. There can only be one of you, therefore be prepared for anything.”

“If I understand you correctly, what you’re trying to say is that Lily and James Potter might not give birth to a child on 31 July 1980. Is that it?”

“That is a possibility,” said Death. “Just like how it’s entirely possible for them to have a girl this time round or another boy who will not be you or … no child at all. At least not together.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “There’s a possibility they might end with different people and not together?”

“Precisely,” grinned Death. Seeing Harry’s worried frown, he added, “Not that it will affect you in any way. You already exist, and will continue existing, whether your biological parents end up married this time round or not. But this will only happen if you decide to time travel to a time before your own birth. If you time travel to when you were already born, then your soul and consciousness will simply merge with the younger version of your body.”

“Yet I suppose not the same applies to Tom.”

“I am afraid not.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his forehead. From what he remembered of Tom’s parents, they were both pitiful and pathetic. The circumstances of how Tom came to be were also not great and his soulmate deserved better, not to be the product of rape … but of love. Someone to be cherished and not feared or hated by his own father.

“Does his conception have to occur as it occurred the first time?” he inquired.

“There are two things that need to stay the same in order for your soulmate to exist: one, his biological parents have to be Merope Gaunt and Tom Riddle, and two, he needs to be conceived in late March or early April 1926 at the latest. The rest can transpire differently.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“One piece of advice, Harry. Before you go, prepare well for your journey. Aside from me, you will be on your own.”

“I know how to take care of myself, but I will heed your advice and take care of everything. Mostly money and identity papers.”

“Then good luck in your preparation phase,” he bowed slightly and was about to disappear when Harry called out to it.

“Wait. How will I be able to contact you?”

A wicked grin appeared on his skeletal face. “By killing yourself, of course.” With that, he dissolved into mist and Harry’s soul was pushed back into his physical body.

…

Aside from acquiring enough money and forging a new identity and legal papers that would go with it, Harry also had to think about the exact time and place he wanted to travel to. There were several options and he wrote all of them down and compiled a list where he would weigh their pros and cons.

The first option was to travel back to his Hogwarts years, first year to be more specific, and try his best to help Voldemort, but he ruled out that possibility almost immediately for several reasons. He feared his soulmate might not take him seriously and he might be too far gone to see reason without being blinded by the prophecy and lashing out at him. It would also be a version of his soulmate that had suffered through many bad things in life and that had done equally horrible things to others.

Since he would be an adult, a powerful and an accomplished wizard, his personality and background would already be set in stone, and there wouldn’t be much that he could do to influence him, and if there was anything he was adamant about in this entire endeavour was that he _had_ to be older than Tom at all times. Because if he was to look after him, he had to be the dominant in the relationship, which translated to being more powerful than Tom as well as being older than he was. Therefore, the first option was out the window almost immediately.

For those specific reasons, he also ruled out travelling to the time when his parents attended Hogwarts and while he entertained the idea of travelling to the time of World War II to be Tom’s senior at Hogwarts or a Professor looking out for him or some distant relative and take him out of the orphanage, it just felt wrong. Tom would have been marked by all the events leading up to Hogwarts and the Blitz. He would have already been someone cruel, sadistic and manipulative, whether he went ahead with the creation of his first horcrux or not.

In addition, it would have felt wrong to pursue any sort of romantic relationship with him as a teacher or a relative, and no doubt that, if he went with the relative option, Tom would have had questions about him not taking him away from the orphanage sooner.

He could go back to when Tom was only a baby and raise him, but again being a paternal figure could get in the way of a romantic relationship and he didn’t want to ruin any chances of being in a love relationship with his soulmate. Therefore, the only option for him was to travel to a time before Tom’s birth. The question was only how far before Tom’s birth he should travel.

He wasn’t fond of the idea of Merope dosing Tom’s father with Amortentia and raping him, just like how he remembered being disgusted by Merope’s living conditions as well as her family’s treatment of her, so perhaps he could start by helping Tom’s mother and give her a better childhood than she had.

He had some experience with babies. He might not have been emotionally invested in his godson’s development, but he was involved in changing diapers and feeding him. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure if he was capable of being the sole caretaker of a child. Because while he was perfectly able to take care of baby’s physiological needs, he wasn’t accustomed to taking care of them over prolonged periods of time … much less years. However, if it helped in the end, he would raise Merope if necessary and make sure she never felt the need to enslave Tom Riddle through magic.

…

After deciding on the approximate period of his time travel, he had to do a bit of investigative work to learn when exactly Merope was born. After a bit of digging, he learnt that she was ironically born on Saint Valentine’s Day, 1907, while Tom Riddle was born on 14 March 1905, the date which was also known as White Day in Asian countries and had to do with men giving gifts to women they received chocolate from on Valentine’s Day. Again, quite ironic that his soulmate’s parents were born on those specific dates, yet their relationship couldn’t have been further from what people would describe or consider romantic.

He hoped he would be able to change that.

As for the money and his new identity, he continued acting as a hitman for the simple fact that it paid a lot of money. He probably could have gone into other illegal business practices such as trafficking drugs or weapons or becoming a thief, but he was comfortable with being an assassin so he stuck with it and started accumulating money.

For his identity, he went with Marcus Potter, a home-schooled muggleborn wizard born in London on 31 July 1880 and orphaned at the age of sixteen after his parents died in mysterious circumstances. His family moved to America before he got his Hogwarts letter, that was also where he built his fortune after getting his business degree at the University of Pennsylvania. After securing a fortune and his soap business was thriving in the States, he wanted to return to his homeland and expand there.

Buying a house in Little Hangleton in 1911, close to the Gaunt Shack, was going to be pure coincidence and as a good neighbour, he was going to pay them a visit. When he would witness the deplorable state of the shack and Merope, he would offer her a chance to come with him and abandon the misery she lived in with her abusive father and brother.

From there, he was slowly going to get closer to the Riddle Family, which should allow young Merope and Tom to bond and become childhood friends and with the passing of time something more, all the while acting as a paternal figure to Merope, allowing her to blossom as a witch and a woman.

…

Before his thirtieth birthday, Harry did some research on the period, especially fashion and customs so he would be able to fit in, together with birth certificates and passports from the late nineteenth century; then had one of each forged before erasing any digital evidence and putting a bullet in the forger’s brain not to leave any loose ends.

“If you’re lucky,” he told him, “you’re going to be born again.”

He honed his magical skills, especially Occlumency, for he remembered that Voldemort was an accomplished Legilimens and he couldn’t afford letting anyone see into his mind lest they learnt of his true identity and purpose. Together with Occlumency, he practiced memory charms, both erasing memories as well as manipulating them for he would need the knowledge and skill to accomplish things with more ease, because even with convincing stories and forged papers he could still rouse suspicion in people.

He also took a business course and educated himself on how to start a business from scratch for he needed an actual company that was successful to make his claims true, especially if he intended to befriend the Riddle Family and strike up a mutually beneficial business partnership with Tom’s father. He would still attend university in the States, but having prior insight couldn’t hurt or prove wasteful. Especially knowing which soap companies were already operating and being successful in the early twentieth century.

Once he was confident in his magical and business knowledge, had all the documents, had enough money to be considered one of the richest (if not the richest) people on the planet in the late nineteenth century and was satisfied with his background story, Harry packed his things in an enchanted trunk, and then killed himself to meet with Death.

It just so happened that he chose to do it on his thirtieth birthday, after converting all of his muggle money into wizard money at Gringotts.

…

“I see you are ready,” commented Death upon Harry’s arrival.

“I am.”

“I assume you have everything you’ll need packed and with you.”

“I do.”

“Excellent,” he grinned. “Then, if you would state the exact date and location of your journey through time, please.”

“31 July 1897, Gringotts, the United States branch.”

Death raised his bony arm and snapped its fingers.


	4. More Preparations

The first thing on Harry’s list of things he had planned to do was to re-convert half of the money he had accumulated in the years as an assassin into valid muggle money. Then, using the combined power of money, the Imperius Curse and a de-aging glamour to appear seventeen, Harry successfully enrolled at Wharton School, where he spent the next few years of his new life learning about the intricacies of business and negotiation.

After graduation, he set out to start a soap company. He bought some land where he set up a laboratory and a warehouse. While the factory and the warehouse were being built, he paid attention to his competitors, and then invested a lot of time, money and effort into the best machinery, ingredients and formulae to make unique products and captivate his customers with the quality, the scent and the appearance of his soaps.

There would be the standard bar soap, as well as liquid soap, shampoos, shower gels and something that would have otherwise appeared on the market in a little less than a hundred years … bath bombs. He would make sure to make them a sensation and overshadow any other soap, body and skin care company of his generation and those to come.

He spent most of his time and money scouring the world for ingredients he could use, sampling individual components, performing quality control, and then buying them in bulk and having them shipped to his lab where they would process the raw materials and mix them together. To have an edge over his competition, Harry made use of magical potions ingredients to give his products beauty and health benefits that no other company could offer their consumers. Of course, he had to be very careful when mixing the magical and non-magical ingredients together, but once he found the perfect balance between the two, he struck the proverbial gold.

In little over a year, in 1902, the construction of his facilities was concluded and the machinery installed, meaning that he could start mass-producing his products. In 1903, his products hit the shelves in shops for the first time and just as predicated, the unusual idea behind bath bombs had been a hit with men and women, young and old. It became so popular that, in just a week’s time, they ran out of stock and had to buy the ingredients, ship them and produce them again, this time expanding on the variety of scents people could choose from.

His other products were also successful and the sales resulted in profit. Despite the profit, Harry remained cautious, because just like how bath bombs exploded and developed into a frenzy and became a revolutionary phenomenon in an instant due to its novelty, it could end once the novelty had worn off and the sales could suffer because of it. That was why he wasn’t relaxing one bit and always made sure that everything he produced was not only a good product but that it also felt good and luxurious.

While it was by no means an affordable brand, people from upper to lower-middle classes owned at least one _Moonstone_ product. Due to societal gatherings, which he occasionally attended for purely business purposes, the word about Harry’s company spread throughout the continent and his presence and influence in the States slowly increased.

By 1905, _Moonstone Soaps_ had expanded and opened its own shops in different locations on the East Coast. By 1910, it had reached the West Coast. Around the same time, he stopped using glamours to make himself look younger for there was no need for that anymore.

When all of the States had at least one _Moonstone Soaps_ shop, he set his eyes on Britain and the rest of the world. Because even though he already had an empire in the States, he was not satisfied with having a national empire, he wanted a global one, preferably, before Tom was born so he could leave behind a legacy of power and status in the world for his soulmate.

Recalling that March marked the beginning of the Social Season in the UK, Harry travelled there in 1911, trying to establish business contacts and partnerships, especially with the Riddle Family. He had not forgotten about Merope, but he would have to go about both things in a slightly different way than what he originally intended.

He still intended to buy a house in Little Hangleton near the Riddles and Gaunts, only that he would meet with the Riddle couple at some party or charity event under the pretence of visiting a dying relative and becoming a guardian to a young girl going by the name of Merope. Hopefully, Mary and Thomas Riddle hadn’t met the Gaunt children yet and if they did, it wasn’t as if they would recognise Merope once her eyes were fixed and she looked like a young lady and not Cinderella.

…

Once the news that the self-made, multi-millionaire, thirty-year-old bachelor Marcus Potter, founder and owner of _Moonstone Soaps_, had set foot on British soil and was looking to buy permanent residence somewhere in the countryside spread through the London aristocratic and gentry families like wildfire, Harry was suddenly bombarded with dozens of invitations to luncheons, balls, dinner parties, and other similar events.

He would attend only some of them, because if he wanted his story about the sick relative to ring true, he had to limit the amount of social events he attended. He also knew that single and married women would be throwing themselves at him, former to get him to marry them and the latter to get him in their beds, just like they tried and failed in America, and he wanted to avoid the atrocious attempts at flirting and seduction. He might be a forty-three-year-old virgin, but he knew bad and tasteless flirting when he saw or heard it. Besides, he wasn’t interested in any of the offers because he already had someone special, he just didn’t exist … yet.

He rented a small apartment in the heart of muggle London, but near Diagon Alley for when he would need to pay magical London a visit with Merope. When he made himself comfortable, he began looking into houses for sale in Little Hangleton, but found nothing worthy of someone descending from the great Salazar Slytherin. The closest he got was a spacious two-story house at the foot of the hill on the opposite side of where the Gaunt Shack was located.

Given that the Season was round the corner, the Riddles weren’t in the village, so he didn’t run the risk of encountering them anytime soon. After all, he needed to set up everything before even considering introducing Merope to Tom, such as fixing her eyes so she wouldn’t be cross-eyed, educating her in social etiquette, and dressing her in clothes suitable for her title and station. By the time Tom met her, she would be a charming little lady.

He spoke with the real estate agency and arranged the ownership papers. The house was empty and dusty, and that was why he spent the following few days shopping for furniture and looking for people to employ as servants. In the meantime, he accepted the invitation to Earl of Plymouth’s dinner party to show himself in society and make useful acquaintances.

…

He donned his best robes, hired a carriage and drove to Lord Windsor’s mansion in the city. Upon his arrival, the butler not only announced his arrival, but also gave him a card with his neighbours at the meal. Harry had to fight off a smirk when he saw that one of his neighbours was Mrs Riddle, he would have plenty of time to converse with her during the meal and lay the groundwork for his endeavour.

The lord and lady of the house immediately received him with a polite greeting.

“Mr Potter,” began Lady Windsor, “we are so very delighted to have you here. For a moment I feared you wouldn’t accept the invitation.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Windsor,” he returned with a smile, holding up her gloved hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “I am very honoured to have received the invitation. I do apologise for waiting until the last moment to notify you of my attendance,” he added apologetically, “I’m afraid personal matters got in the way.”

“Oh, is something the matter?” inquired the Duchess, gasping softly and with a hand on her chest.

“Nothing that would require you to worry, Milady,” assured her Harry with a polite smile. “Nonetheless, I am thankful for your concern.”

After complimenting her on her looks and the exquisiteness of the party, he was quick to mingle in with the rest of the guests.

As part of proper etiquette, he was formally introduced to a number of peers and their wives, the Riddle couple among them. Most wanted to know about his voyage from the States, his impression of the land and how it compared to America, as well as the purpose and length of his visit. A couple of them asked him about his business and personal life, and while he answered the questions, he limited himself to vague answers for there would be a chance to speak more freely about those topics during the meal.

A few women attempted to drag him to the dancefloor, but he politely refused by saying that while he was a brilliant businessman, he was a horrible dancer and he wanted to spare them the agony of having to dance with someone as clumsy as him.

They let out a chorus of disappointed sighs and left, only for one of them to approach him and offer him private dance lessons in her bedroom the following moment.

“I have a feeling that with a little practice and effort; you would be … an incredible dancer. With your build and age it would be a shame if you didn’t put your body to good use.” She even had the audacity to caress his arm discreetly, shoving her cleavage into his face. 

Harry kept on smiling politely, even though he was itching to shove her … no … kill her for having no shame. Fortunately, she was not seated next to him at the table, because he was certain that he would have to lure her somewhere dark and quiet and open her up then feed her to some wild beast.

“I appreciate the invitation and suggestion; however, I must refuse it. I may have spent most of my life in America, but even I know that for a lady to make such a scandalous suggestion to a man who is not her husband is frowned upon and considered bad etiquette.”

A tick of annoyance appeared in her sickly sweet façade. “No one has to know. It will be our little secret.”

He fixed her with a piercing look. “I refuse to be a trophy to some woman who is not satisfied with her private life. I have no interest in you, but if you are so adamant to have someone in your bed besides your husband, then I suggest you look elsewhere, for you will not get me to do it.”

The woman was seething, but kept her composure rather well. “Mind your words, Mr Potter; you never know when you might change your mind, because I don’t know a single man who would refuse a willing and beautiful woman when she offers her favours.”

“Oh, so you consider yourself a courtesan?” inquired Harry innocently. The woman paled and blushed from anger at the same time. “Because prostitutes are known to offer services to others. The only exception is that they charge money for them. Do you also charge money or do you open your legs for free to any man you want?”

She was clenching her jaw and Harry was relishing in her anger and annoyance. “Lord knows how many men have been between your legs and I’m not eager to become one of them. Try looking somewhere else. I am sure that with your age and body you will be able to get some other gentleman to quench the raging thirst between your thighs. I hear there are plenty of men who do not seem to care about a woman’s marital status when engaging in sexual activities. I am afraid I am one of the few who respect other people’s spouses and have enough self-respect never to lower themselves to pointless illicit trysts for the sake of pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he bowed and left the woman to herself.

Looking at his pocket watch, he noticed that it was almost time for dinner. The etiquette dictated that he escort a lady into the dining room, he decided that he would escort Mrs Riddle. He spotted her chatting and giggling with other women, while her husband was engaged in a conversation with other men.

He made his way across the dancefloor, when the bell chimed and the start of the dinner was announced. Lord Windsor led them to the dining room and he immediately offered his company to his target with a polite smile.

“Why, of course,” she accepted. “I would be delighted.” She hooked her arm around his elbow and they followed the other pairs.

Once in the dining room, he held out the chair for her, then took a seat himself and waited for the servants to place the appetizer on the table. Even after everything was served, he followed the crowd and waited for the mistress of the house to start speaking to one of her neighbours, so the rest of the table could follow her example.

To ensure that he would have the chance to speak with Mrs Riddle, he used magic to influence Lady Windsor in his favour. Once everyone got the queue, Mrs Riddle started asking him questions.

“Tell me, Mr Potter. What brings such a successful and young man such as yourself here? Besides business, of course.”

“Matters of personal nature.”

“Are you looking to settle down with a well-bred British lady?”

He chuckled. “No, madam. I’m afraid there’s no time for marriage and children when I have an empire to build and …” he cleared his throat and put a grave expression on his face, “depending on the health of a relative, I might have to focus on raising a young lady all by myself as well.”

“Oh dear,” she gasped softly and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry to hear about your relative.”

“Thank you for your thoughts and sentiments. They are much appreciated.”

“I presume that you will be staying here for a while then, or do you intend to return to America at the earliest convenience?”

“Yes, I believe I will be staying for a while, I have already looked into houses and bought one in Little Hangleton.”

The woman’s eyes sparkled at the news. “Really? My husband and I also have a mansion there. Pray tell, where in Little Hangleton have you bought the house?”

“I believe it’s at the bottom of a hill.”

Mrs Riddle grew more excited by the second. “How wonderful! The Riddle Manor is just atop the hill, which practically makes us neighbours. Do come to visit. My husband and I would be delighted to have you and your little ward as our guests, and if you ever need advice on decoration, governesses and household staff, please, do not hesitate to ask me.”

“I will keep that in mind,” he grinned.

“However,” she leaned in, whispering, “I must warn you about our other neighbours; a father with two children, I believe. They live in a deplorable shack just on the opposite side of the hill and they are quite simply the most intolerable herd of steaming social animals we’ve ever had the misfortune of turning our noses up to. We spurn them as we would spurn rabid dogs.”

Harry’s eyes widened at the description of the Gaunts, but he thought that the description was quite accurate, especially in regards to Marvolo and Morfin, for they indeed behaved and looked like rabid animals. Merope was simply too meek and well behaved to be considered as such, though the pigsty she lived in and the way she looked would say otherwise.

“Have you had any unsavoury encounters with these … animals?”

“Once the father attacked my husband when we were out on a walk with our son. He was yelling gibberish, waving a stick around, trying to poke my husband’s eye out. In another instance, the son attacked our darling Tom by throwing a rock at him. It hit his head. The impact cut through the skin and if it weren’t for Tom’s governess who saw the incident, I believe that little savage would have stoned our baby boy to death.”

“That’s terrible,” said Harry, horrified, and for the first time he didn’t even have to force himself to sound shocked or disgusted, for he wasn’t aware that Tom’s father had been attacked as a child with a stone that split open his head. “How’s your son? Is he well?”

He had to be. He needed to be. He was the father of his soulmate so he had better be healthy and safe; otherwise, he wasn’t sure what he would do if something happened to him and Merope and he couldn’t have Tom.

“Fortunately, yes. We immediately called our family doctor who looked him over and took care of him, but we’ve been wary of those savages ever since.”

“Understandable,” he nodded. “What about police? Have you considered calling them?”

“We have, but they couldn’t do much more than lock the father up for a week or so. Unless he commits homicide, I’m afraid he won’t be going to the gallows anytime soon.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said Harry gravely. To lighten up the mood, he shifted the conversation and started asking about her son, and Mrs Riddle was more than happy to boast about him.

“Next year, he is going to start attending primary school in Great Hangleton, since his governess announced that she is getting married to a middle-class merchant.”

“You don’t seem bothered by that,” commented Harry.

“Why would I? The poor thing would have ended up a spinster if she waited any longer. This is her chance at marriage and motherhood; she shouldn’t squander it for the sake of financial independence.” She sighed. “Tom is going to miss her terribly. She’s been with him since he was a toddler, but he’ll manage.”

“Maybe a new friend might do him good.”

“How old is your ward?”

“I believe she just turned four about a month ago.”

“And what’s her name?”

“Merope Potter.”

“Merope?” she repeated, confused. “What an unusual name for a girl.”

“Her mother is fascinated with Greek Mythology,” explained Harry. “I believe there have been quite a few important female figures called Merope.”

Mrs Riddle hummed in thought. “Indeed, I seem to recall several noblewomen called Merope. Does that specific branch of the Potter Family have any titles or riches?”

Harry thought about what he could say to keep the woman’s interest in a future marriage between Merope and Tom and not outright lying. “I believe there is some noble blood, however, it has been diluted somewhat over the generations and the family has been struggling financially in the past couple of years due to the girl’s mother’s illness.”

“What a shame, but now that you’re here, you will be able to aid the girl and her mother.”

“That is the idea. I only hope I am not too late to save my cousin.”


	5. Adopting Merope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated Happy New Year to everyone! 😄 I'm finally back again after over a month of silence. It was a mixture of work and illness, but I'm back again. My uploading schedule will remain messed up and sporadic, but I can safely say that I will continue to upload my stories, if only a couple at a time. Right now, I wish to focus on this soulmate story and Taking Charge and in a few months, I will go back to my other stories one by one. So, if it takes a while for me to get to the story you like, I'm sorry, but it's hard to juggle six stories simultaneously, however, don't worry about me not getting it done, because I refuse to have any uncompleted/unfinished stories on my account.
> 
> I appreciate all the comments that you've left in my absence and I promise I will get to all of them eventually, it just might take me a week or more to answer all of them. So keep leaving comments. 😁
> 
> And without further ado, enjoy the chapter.

“What about the other child?” Harry asked sometime later. Mrs Riddle sent a confused frown his way. “You mentioned that the horrible savage has two children. You’ve only spoken about the son, what about the other child?”

Mrs Riddle thought hard about it, only to come up with nothing substantial. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t really interacted with or seen the other spawn. I’m not even sure if they are male or female.”

Relief and triumph washed over Harry at this piece of information. With the Riddles oblivious to Merope’s existence, he could take her away and make her presentable for a visit at the Riddles at his own leisure.

“Mr Potter,” the hostess’ voice brought him out of his thoughts. “In a week’s time, I’m organising a charity event for the city orphans and I was wondering if you would like to attend it.”

“I would love to, Milady,” he smiled, “however, I’m afraid my presence is required elsewhere, but I would be more than delighted to donate a significant sum to the orphanage and provide the children with food, clothes and education.”

“That is very generous of you, Mr Potter.”

“I do what I can with the resources I have,” he said, trying to sound humble. “For all we know, one of the unfortunate souls might end up saving thousands of lives one day by discovering new cures for nasty and deadly illnesses.”

“An interesting mind-set to have for sure,” commented Lord Windsor. “And risky as well.”

“As a businessman, I see it as a long-term investment,” explained Harry, “whether it will end up paying out in the end remains to be seen, but for the moment, the potential benefits outweigh the risk that accompanies it.”

“Then let us hope that your business sense is right and that you will end up reaping fruits in the future,” he said, raising his glass of wine to toast to Harry.

Harry responded in kind. “To success,” he said, and everybody echoed his words.

…

As the meal ended, the women went to the drawing room for a cup of coffee to chat about the latest gossip in their social circle, while the men stayed at the table for a glass of brandy and a smoke, and to discuss topics deemed too complex for the female mind, such as politics and business.

Harry refused the cigar, but he accepted the glass of brandy. As the conversation began revolving around the bill, which was trying to take away the absolute power of veto on legislation from the House of Lords, Harry tried to stay as neutral as possible. If there was anything he had learnt over the years is that publically voicing strong opposing opinions never ended well for the one that thought differently from the majority and that sometimes it was better if one refrained from commenting on things.

Since most of the gentlemen present formed part of the House of Lords, they were quite against the bill. They were very stuck up and old-fashioned about their positions and titles, similarly to how the members of the Wizengamot were staunch about theirs. The host and a few of the Lords attempted to elicit an opinion out of him, by roping him into the discussion.

“What about you, Mr Potter?” asked Lord Windsor. “What is your opinion on the bill that those commoners are trying to pass?”

Trying to be a true diplomat and a businessman, he replied with, “I’m afraid I’m not sufficiently familiarised with all the sides and points of the bill, therefore, it is difficult for me to take a stance, though, in my humble opinion, as someone who holds no noble title and is first and foremost a businessman, I would certainly try to protect my interests.”

“What you’re saying is that you agree with the commoners,” said another lord, narrowing his eyes shrewdly.

Harry sent a collected look his way. “I never said that.”

“But you implied it,” he insisted.

“I simply said that I would want to protect my interests,” reminded him Harry. “Aren’t you trying to do the same by assuring that the bill isn’t passed?” The gentleman had nothing to say to that. “I thought so.” Harry took a sip of brandy and narrowed his eyes. “The fact that I don’t have a title is me merely stating a present fact. The lack of it doesn’t mean I agree with the opposition, I simply don’t hold any noble titles. However, I am a man of business and I look at the profit. If I cannot benefit from something, then it means that it’s not worth my time and attention, and if something threatens the stability of my business, then I believe it is only natural for me to protect it, wouldn’t you agree?”

The men in the room fell silent. “I believe our American guest has spoken his mind like a true politician,” chuckled Lord Windsor. “Would you be interested in pursuing a career in politics perhaps?”

“I am honoured by your compliment, but I think I’m perfectly content with my present situation.”

“Being one of the richest people on the planet is a wonderful position to be in,” commented another gentleman, holding the cigar to his lips. “I must say that bath bombs were a revolutionary and a fascinating idea. My wife has gone out of her way to order a batch from overseas simply to see what she has been missing.”

“I hope she is satisfied with the results and that it was worth the fuss.”

“Oh, most definitely. Now she only swears by _Moonstone_ products. She even made sure I have them as well.”

The men chuckled and Harry with them. “I am glad to hear that,” he nodded lightly.

“It is curious how with your level of success and money, you still haven’t opened shops overseas. It has been about eight years since you started your company,” wondered one.

“While bath bombs have been indeed a sensation among my customers back in America, I had to make sure it wasn’t simply a temporary fascination and that my business would remain afloat even if the interest in bath bombs waned. However, do not worry; I intend to expand around the world, starting with Britain.”

“Another curious thing about your way of operating is the fact that you are quite transparent when it comes to the ingredients you use in your products and how much of them you use,” commented another. “Aren’t you concerned that someone might try and copy your products like this?”

“Not at all,” retorted Harry. “Of course, there will always be people who will try and profit by copying and stealing from others, but the methods and formulae I have developed in my own laboratory with the best ingredients out there will remain unique and unrepeatable. The copy will never be as good as the original. In addition to that, I do have a patent on bath bombs and even if someone manages to figure out the process behind them, I still own the rights to the product.”

“An interesting way of seeing it,” said Mr Riddle. “If you’re in need of business partners, I would be glad to become one.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” replied Harry, “but what exactly can you offer me to make the partnership beneficial for both sides? So far, all the partnerships I’ve formed have always worked both ways.”

“Well what exactly are you looking for in a business partnership?”

Harry looked at him, glad to see him take the bait. “Depends on how it can complement and enhance my business,” he replied cryptically. “For example, my first partnerships were with my suppliers of ingredients for my products, because I wouldn’t have anything to sell if I didn’t have the ingredients to work with, then, before I set up my own shop, I had to sign contracts with the shops that sold my products.” He paused for a bit. “And now, I think that it would make sense for me to partner up with people in beauty and fashion.”

“Would you be interested in partnering up with someone who specialises in perfumes?” asked Mr Riddle.

“Most certainly. In fact, it is the perfect match. In addition to our own scent combinations, we could agree on releasing joint scent combinations, my company would make sure to introduce the scents as body soaps and shampoos, and my business partner would sell them as perfumes.”

Mr Riddle smirked. “Then I am proud to say that my family owns a very successful perfume company, and as a perfume expert, I am fascinated and impressed by the range and uniqueness of the scents you produce.”

“Why thank you,” he sounded humble. “And I would be very interested in seeing what can come out of a business partnership between our companies.”

“Excellent,” grinned Mr Riddle. “Then I will be awaiting your call to set up a meeting.”

“Agreed.”

Together with Thomas Riddle, a couple of other gentlemen boasted about their lucrative businesses and were equally eager to form a partnership with Harry. One of them owned a department store and the other was a proud owner of a chain of beauty salons.

Harry couldn’t have been more satisfied with the party’s outcome.

…

He left for Little Hangleton the next day to see if the staff he hired had already managed to make the house hospitable and he was glad to see that for a group of muggles they sure worked fast and well, especially when they had proper monetary incentive. He had promised to add five pounds to their next monthly wage if they could clean and set up all the furniture in three days.

At first, they were shocked he had even suggested such a thing, but he could see they appreciated the gesture and it resulted in him gaining their absolute loyalty and them having a bit of extra money. He knew that he offered a lot of money by the time’s standards, but he figured that it wouldn’t make an indent in his wallet if he paid each of his house staff five pounds. After all, it was a well-known fact that he was very, _very_ rich.

With the place ready and settled, he set out to visit his ‘friendly neighbours’ on the other side of the hill. He soon found himself in front of the cottage door half covered by tree branches and with a snake nailed to it in a show of savagery and barbarism. He knocked and waited, tall and dignified for someone to open.

He heard thudding footsteps and grunting. Then, all of a sudden, the door slammed open to reveal the hideous and grotesque figure of Marvolo Gaunt.

“Who goes there?” he grumbled. His greasy raven strands fell over his eyes, his back was hunched and his skin was sallow. A rotten smell was coming from inside the house and him, prompting Harry to grimace and cough.

“Good morning, my name is Marcus Potter and I am your new neighbour. I moved here a little while ago,” he replied with as much politeness as he was able to master.

“Another muggle, eh?” he sneered and switched to parseltongue, which was now only a series of hissing sounds mixed with spit, because another thing that he lost with Voldemort’s death was his ability to speak and understand the language of serpents, which he now realised was a shame.

He supposed the man was cursing him in a hundred and one ways, but he didn’t really care, because from what he knew of the Gaunts, they were so inbred that the magic started to die out together with their brain cells and when it came to magic, he was more skilled than the abomination in front of him.

He kept his composure, but all pleasantness evaporated from his countenance. “I may not know what you just said, but for your information, I’m no muggle and I could very well make your life a living hell if I wanted to, more so than you could ever make mine. Now, as you clearly cannot muster enough hospitality and civility to strike up a civilised conversation with another human being, I assume there is no need for me to keep up this mask of politeness either, so I will go straight to the point: I came to get your daughter, Merope.”

“What could someone like you want with a useless wench like her, who can barely even cook and clean or do magic?” he wondered with narrowed eyes, suspicion shining in them.

Harry smirked. “I don’t have to tell you anything. Now, move, or I’ll make you.”

Marvolo Gaunt’s face contorted in a nasty snarl that made him look like a rabid animal. “How does a nobody like you dare to speak to a descendant of the Great Salazar Slytherin in such a way? I’ll show you what it means to disrespect a Gaunt.”

He reached for his wand, but Harry was faster by snapping his fingers, which created a powerful force that pushed the man backwards and sent him flying to the other side of the shack. Then, using his cane, much like how Lucius Malfoy and other gentlemen possessed, he pushed the decrepit wooden door out of his way and stepped inside the cabin filled with an unbearable stench.

He covered his nose with a cotton tissue and surveyed the dark, dingy hole his soulmate’s mother was forced to inhabit with her lousy father and brother. The brother showed concern for his father’s immovable figure while the girl, draped in rat-like clothes, kept her distance, too scared to move a muscle. Her small and fragile frame shivered as she tried to shrink into the wall, covering the bird nest she had for hair.

The little beast called Morfin turned his vicious glare to him, ready to strike, but with a single wave of his hand, Harry put him to sleep. Noticing this, Merope’s shivers escalated, her breathing became ragged and she tried to make herself as invisible as possible.

Harry stepped closer to her. “Do not be afraid,” his voice was soothing, but it didn’t have much effect on her. “I know a word of a stranger isn’t worth much in the light of recent events,” he glanced at the slumped bodies of Marvolo and Morfin, “but I speak in earnest when I say I wish you no harm or ill will.”

She remained silent, but snuck a timid glance at him with her crooked eyes as he lowered himself to her level a foot from her, eyeing him cautiously.

“My manners,” he chastised himself. “I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Marcus Potter. Like you, I’m a wizard, only that my heritage isn’t quite as ‘pure’ as your family’s, and I moved to Little Hangleton … for you,” he concluded in a conspiratorial whisper, winking playfully as a smirk curled the corner of his lips and he extended a hand to her.

Merope blinked in confusion. She raised and pointed a trembling finger at herself. “M-Me?” she stuttered.

Harry nodded.

“B-But w-why?” she couldn’t believe it. “I’m a nobody.”

His expression fell. “That is not true,” he assured her. “Far beyond the fact that you are Salazar Slytherin’s descendant and a parseltongue, you are yourself and no one can take that away from you, not even your father and brother, and if you come with me, I can show you just how special you can be.”

She gaped at him in wonder, her eyes going between his face and the offered hand.

“If you let me, I can make a princess out of you. I can fix your eyes. I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“Whatever I want,” she repeated in awe. “Can you give me a family?” Her question touched something inside Harry that almost broke the dam of feelings inside him. “A real and loving one?”

He smiled. “Of course. If that’s what you want, I can give it to you.”

She glanced at her father and brother. “If I go with you … what will happen to father and brother?”

“They will live, but without any recollection of you. When they see you, you will be nothing but a stranger to them.”

Her eyes went wide in alarm. “Will it hurt them?”

He shook his head. “They won’t even notice it. What do you say?”

She stared at the bodies of Morfin and Marvolo Gaunt. “Do you have to make them forget?”

“Yes. If you want to start a new life with the family you want, then you must leave the life you had until now behind, including your biological family. They would only complicate things.”

Silence settled between them. Harry stood up and straightened his clothes. “Of course, you can remain here, treated worse than a house elf, but with their memories intact. It’s your decision.” He turned his back on her and headed for the door.

Merope’s eyes snapped back up at him. “Wait,” she called after him, jumping to her feet. Harry stopped, a smirk gracing his mouth. “Don’t leave.”

He looked at her over his shoulder with an arched brow. “Well, I most certainly don’t intend to remain here forever. So, if you’re going to make your choice, do so now.”

“I’m coming with you. Please, take me with you,” she pleaded.

Harry turned to her and offered his hand to her, which she took and squeezed. He took out his wand and with a few strokes of his wand, every memory of Merope Gaunt ceased to exist from Morfin and Marvolo’s minds.

“From this moment forward, you are no longer Merope Gaunt, but Merope Potter, daughter of Ariadne and Robert Potter … and my niece.”


	6. Merope and Tom Meet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this chapter will bring you a bit of entertainment and joy in this trying times with the virus and the prohibition (or at least limitation) of public gatherings. Now that the school where I work is closed until further notice and we do our work from home, hopefully now I will find more time to write and publish chapters more often.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter and stay healthy and safe! Take care of others but also yourselves by staying at home as much as possible! 🙏
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you thought of this chapter and what your overall thoughts until now are.😄

Later that day, Merope found herself surrounded by luxury and servants at Marcus’ house, treated like nobility. After getting her eyes fixed through a quick and painful eye correcting ritual on Diagon Alley, they headed home where a nice and warm bath awaited her together with fancy dresses and personal maids who styled her hair and helped her get dressed.

At dinner, she marvelled at the décor of the dining room, the expensive plates and cutlery, the scrumptious-looking food that was overflowing the trays in the middle of the large table. Her mouth watered at the smell of roast beef and potatoes, steamed baby carrots, gravy and lettuce and it wasn’t the first time that day that she thought she was dreaming or that everything was simply too good to be true. There had to be a catch in all of this, because why else would a stranger waltz into her life like Marcus had, unless they had some ulterior motives.

“Is something the matter, Merope?” Marcus inquired after noticing her reluctance to eat despite her rumbling stomach.

She kept her gaze on her lap, where she was fiddling with her fingers.

“Everything feels and looks so nice and pretty, it makes me think it’s all just a dream. It makes me think that I just imagined you and the things you have done for me and that I’ll wake up to my father yelling at me and my brother hitting me.”

She felt Marcus’ presence on her right, crouching next to her chair. His bigger, calloused manly hand gently covered her small, girly ones.

“Merope,” he spoke with warmth and patience. His other hand reached out to her hair and he gently ran his palm over her strands, tucking them with care behind her ear. “When you came with me, I promised to take care of you and love you as if you were my family and I plan to stick to my promise. I know my arrival was unexpected and abrupt and that I am still nothing but a stranger with dubious motives at best to you, but all of this,” he gestured to her expensive princess dress, the scrumptious food on the table and the rich room décor, “is real. It’s not a dream. It will never be a dream. Always a reality.”

A knot formed in her throat and her eyes stung with tears, but she managed to nod instead, which prompted Marcus to flash her a smile, before he pulled her into a comforting hug and she let herself lean into his warm chest, where the steady heartbeat echoed in her ears and made her feel safe.

…

In the following days, Merope began her study of basic skills, such as reading, writing, and basic calculations, under the tutelage of her uncle Marcus. He believed that before instructing her in any sort of magic at all, she should know how to read, write and do basic maths. That is why every day at 10 o’clock in the morning; they would dedicate two hours to developing her motor skills.

It was a slow process. They started with uppercase block letters. Once she mastered the strokes and the sound of each individual letter enough to produce something legible, Marcus had her write a dictation and a simple letter detailing the events of her daily routine, which he then read and corrected any orthographic errors. After that, they moved onto lowercase letters and cursive.

As for her reading material, Marcus bought her magical and muggle children’s books, saying that while she was a witch, she should inform herself about muggle fairy tales too, since they would live among the non-magical for years to come. She found herself liking both, but if she had to be completely honest, she liked muggle fairy tales more than magical ones. She wasn’t exactly sure why though.

While she liked reading very much and writing was starting to become fun, she liked calculating the most. After learning the numbers, and counting to one hundred with the help of concrete things, such as stones, marbles, and different kinds of food, she started adding and subtracting smaller numbers and towards the end of the second month, she even started learning the multiplication table.

Even though her days seemed filled with nothing but learning, she did in fact have plenty of time to play and relax. Uncle Marcus had bought her plenty of toys, such as dolls, bird whistles, erector sets, a gyroscope, a riding horse, toy cars, a flyer wagon, tinker construction kits and even a Morse Code telegraph learning set on her request, after she had expressed an interest in it.

Approximately three months into their cohabitation, Marcus began instructing her in social etiquette to the best of his abilities, after she expressed curiosity to invitations he received to balls, tea and dinner parties, horse races, charity events and the like.

He politely refused most of them, but the handfuls that he accepted and attended, sometimes late into the afternoon and night, she would wait awake for him in the sitting room, curled up in an armchair next to the fireplace in her linen nightgown and a teddy bear pressed to her chest, eager to hear what it was like. And he would tell her, though he always downplayed the grandiosity of the events and people, making her even more curious to know how it really was like.

After all, she was now practically part of the landed gentry so to speak, part of the upper class given that her uncle was one of the wealthiest and powerful people alive. It would be expected of her to attend as many social events as possible, and she would have to be graceful and elegant in her interactions with others and not bring about unsavoury rumours and cause any scandals, especially if she wanted to marry into a good family.

“Were there any children?” she asked him once and he replied with a negative response.

“Why do you want to know?” he pressed.

“Nothing,” she shrugged and fidgeted a little with her legs and skirt, “just curious.”

He narrowed his eyes, not entirely convinced. “Well, there is one child I know. He’s a boy, roughly your age, slightly older.”

She perked up. “Really?” He murmured affirmatively. “W-Well, what’s his name?” she was eager to know. “Where does he live? Can I meet him so we could play?”

She had risen from her place near the fireplace and had practically climbed in her uncle’s lap.

Marcus chuckled, lifting her up and cradling her to his chest. “His name is Tom Riddle and he is six years old. During the autumn and winter months, his family and he live right here in Little Hangleton, in the house at the top of the hill.” Merope’s eyes widened in awe. “But right now, during the Season, they live in their house in London, where they can be in the centre of all social events.”

“Do we also have a house in London?” she inquired.

“Yes, we do.”

“Can we go?” she prompted him, her eyes shining with the fire’s reflection.

He smoothed her braided hair. “In a few weeks at best, perhaps a few months,” he said gently, smiling at her. “Right now I am trying to keep the amount of social events I attend to a minimum, since most people of the ton think I’m in mourning because of my deceased cousin, your mother, and that I am busy with looking after you, which is true to some extent.”

“I see.”

She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice and face as she heard that she wouldn’t be able to meet Tom for some time. She really wanted to play with someone her age, because while she was entertained playing house and tea with her dolls, it sometimes got boring to play on her own and disheartening when her hide-and-seek game with Marcus was interrupted by business inquiries. On the rare occasion that Marcus was away, she tried to get maids to play with her, but again, like with Marcus, their playtime was cut short by work.

“You’ll meet him,” he assured her, “if not before the Season ends, then as soon as they return back here for the winter, but first, you should learn a bit about social etiquette, so that when he and his parents see you, they will see just how intelligent and well-behaved you are.”

“Yes, uncle,” she nodded and curled up against his chest, melting into his hug.

He pressed a kiss to her head and with his arms securely wrapped around her small form, he stood from his armchair and carried her off to bed.

“Come, let’s go. It’s late, tomorrow we have lessons and you need to be well-rested,” he spoke in a velvet whisper.

As she gazed at his face in the faint moonlight as he tucked her under the softness and warmth of her covers and began stroking her hair, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, until she closed her eyes, wished him sweet dreams, and told him she loved him dearly.

…

The more she learnt about social etiquette, the more the prospect of balls and social interaction frightened her; mostly because of how rigid and strict the rules and expectations placed on social conduct were. There were so many rules and protocols to follow that her mind couldn’t possibly begin to wrap itself around them. She worried that no matter how many times she went through them or how many times she practiced, she would never master them and she would end up squandering somewhere and bring shame to herself and her uncle.

“Don’t worry too much,” Marcus tried to appease her nerves, “just try to be as natural as possible. Besides, you will have more than enough time to get familiar with all the intricacies of social etiquette as you grow up. No one expects a child of your age to know all the ins and outs of proper conduct.”

“Still,” she protested, “I have to make sure to be on my best behaviour. I don’t want Tom or his parents to think I’m a bad child.”

Marcus’ lips curled into an amused smile. He gently ruffled her hair. “In that case, just make sure not to be too loud; don’t run in your dress; make sure not to get dirty and don’t ask too many questions at once, no matter how eager you are to know everything about them. When spoken to, always include either the other person’s title or their formal form of address, you wouldn’t want to insult them unintentionally by not acknowledging their status.”

She listened with rapt attention and nodded vigorously, then, just to be sure she didn’t forget anything, she fetched some paper and a quill and made notes for herself to keep in mind, something that had Marcus laughing out loud and clutching his stomach.

“What?” She whined, half-bothered by his reaction. There was nothing funny about her predicament; she really needed to be on her best behaviour in front of people, so what if she had to write it down.

“Nothing,” he wheezed, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye “I just find the way you’re so serious about this to be really cute.”

She pouted by blowing out her cheeks and crossing her arms over her chest. He chuckled some more at her posture.

“Again, Merope, no one will hold it against you if you mess up,” he assured her and she relaxed a bit, “especially not Tom. In fact, I would wager that he would appreciate if, when it’s just the two of you, you would join him in less than pristine activities, such as playing outside in the rain, climbing trees, river bathing and hunting insects.”

“You think so?” she asked with a brilliant smile.

“I’m sure of it. In fact, why don’t you show him a few snake tricks?” he whispered conspiratorially. “Just make sure you make him promise to keep it a secret from the others.” He pressed his index to his lips and winked.

Merope’s eyes widened. “You want me to speak parseltongue in front of him?” Marcus nodded. “But what if he gets scared and thinks I’m a witch?” she kept her eyes on her skirt, where she fiddled with the seam.

“You are a witch, my dear,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she answered petulantly. “But no one who isn’t magical is supposed to know, remember? You said so yourself, when I asked you to teach me magic and you said no.”

“If you want to have a genuine relationship with him, a true relationship, whether it be friendship or more, then he must know this about you. The sooner, the better, because that way he’ll have time to get used to the idea of magic,” he said; his expression and voice suddenly serious.

“But … But, what if he ends up hating me for it? What if he doesn’t want to see me again?” Her eyes filled with tears and she broke into sobs. Marcus gathered her into a hug and let her cry into his shoulder. “I don’t want him to hate me because I have magic and he doesn’t.”

“Then you’ll just have to show him and explain to him what magic is and how it works.”

“How?” she sniffed. “When you won’t even tell me anything until I’m older.”

“We’ll figure out a way for you to do it, don’t you worry. One step at a time.” He rubbed soothing circles on her back. “You haven’t even met him and you’re already coming up with all sorts of scenarios and ways your interactions can go wrong. Relax, don’t get ahead of yourself. Take everything in stride. Leave the more complex things to me, you focus on befriending him first and foremost.”

She rubbed her eyes into her sleeves to dry the tears. “Okay,” she nodded, sniffing.

“Good girl.” Marcus gave her a smile, then pulled out a tissue and waited for her to blow her nose.

…

It wasn’t until August that she met Tom.

The day after celebrating her uncle Marcus’ birthday on the thirty-first, they travelled to London in a carriage. He would have taken her by side-along apparition, but since she had never ridden a carriage before, she wanted to experience it, no matter how much slower form of transport it was. Once there, she marvelled at the apartment he had hired upon his arrival and even though it was far from what their country house looked like, she still liked it very much.

“Now, remember,” he said as he tucked her in her bed. “Tomorrow, I have a business meeting with Tom’s father. I have already let them know you are accompanying me and they said that your presence is more than welcome. So, while I’m discussing business with Mr Riddle, you are going to spend that time acquainting yourself with Tom.”

She beamed and nodded. “Yes, uncle,” she said excitedly.

“Now, his mother and governess might be around, but let it not deter you from playing and bonding with the boy.”

“I won’t.”

“Also, don’t forget that they think that your mother has just passed away in spring, due to an ongoing illness that she developed in the past couple of years or so. Do you still remember what we talked about your family?”

“Yes, while descendants of a Noble House, with generations we lost our title, money and estate, so my parents were forced to live modestly. My father died shortly after I was born in a carriage accident and my mother had fallen ill shortly after. You, Uncle Marcus, are my only family left.”

“And if anyone magical asks about your origin? Because of the surname Potter, they might want to associate you with them.”

“I say I’m a Muggleborn, because both my parents were muggles who happened to have the same surname.”

“Excellent,” he praised her. “Alright then,” he sighed, leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, my dear.”

“You too, Uncle Marcus.”

He was about to leave the room, when she called out to him. “Uncle Marcus?”

“Yes?”

“If I should tell Tom everything to keep our relationship honest, should I tell him the truth about my family?”

“Only if you wish to,” he said enigmatically, “and if you do, make sure to do it when both of you will be much, much older, hopefully when both of you will be mature enough to understand the reasons why things happened the way they did.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “Oh, okay,” she said, not really understanding the explanation.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about it now, Merope. There are other important things to worry about at the moment … like meeting Tom in person.”

…

As she stood next to her uncle in front of the Riddle town house, her hand in his, dressed in a simple dress, she could feel how her stomach contracted and formed into knots that made her feel like she had to go to the bathroom to empty her bowels.

A myriad of questions assaulted her mind, drowning out anything and anyone else, even her uncle Marcus as he tried to give her some final encouragement. Was her dress okay? Was it too flashy for someone whose mother had just died or did it make her look poor and thus unsuitable to be Tom’s friend? Did her hair look nice or did it resemble a scarecrow or a bird’s nest? Was there anything on her face? Any leftovers from breakfast or maybe dental paste that she forgot to wash off, perhaps? Did she brush her teeth clean enough or would there still be food stuck in between them when she smiled? What if she forgot how to address Tom’s parents and she insulted them because of it? What if she said something she wasn’t supposed to? What if she makes a fool out of herself?

The moment between him knocking on the door and the family butler opening them felt like forever, even though it probably lasted less than a minute.

Once inside, she couldn’t even concentrate on the appearance of the walls, the furniture, the decoration, the colours and smells. She moved with stiff motions, her palms clammy due to nerves and as they slowly walked into the sitting room where the Riddle Family would receive them, she felt lightheaded, like everything she had discussed with her uncle was forgotten, or rather veiled behind an impenetrable mist of nervousness.

The only thing she registered as Marcus greeted the trio was the moment her name was called and she fumbled to curtsy and greet them properly.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady she is, Mr Potter,” Mrs Riddle cooed at her blush and her awkward attempt at a proper greeting.

“Thank you, Madam,” he retorted, but her eyes now fixed on the boy in dark knee-length velvet shorts, suspenders and white short-sleeved, button-up shirt. He had pale skin, round, slightly rosy cheeks, warm, chocolate brown eyes and short, wavy chestnut hair with a scar poking out from beneath his fringe.

Again, she curtsied and he bowed back. Other than that, they said nothing. They simply kept their attention split between the adults, the floor and each other.

In the meantime, the adults were making small talk about the weather, their trip and, surprisingly, they even talked about her and her “acclimating” to the absence of her mother. Not really knowing how to respond, or even if she should speak, unless directly addressed, she let her uncle do the talking and she simply kept close to him, trying to draw comfort from his closeness.

As her nerves calmed and she didn’t feel like fainting anymore, she found herself wanting the adults to move onto adult things and let Tom and her play and talk to their hearts’ content. She really wanted to hear what Tom’s voice sounded like.

Five minutes later, Marcus and Tom’s dad retired to the study and his mother called for tea and biscuits, before wishing her a comfortable visit and leaving them in the care of the governess, while she stepped out for a fitting for a dress she planned to wear for the final event of the Season.

With her bonnet secured, her parasol hanging from her forearm and lace gloves in place, she headed towards her son, cupped his face and leaned in to plant a kiss on his head. “Bye, darling, be a good host and make our little guest feel welcome,” she instructed, much to Tom’s embarrassment, who blushed fiercely at the display of affection and being told what to do.

“Yes, mother,” he murmured.

She headed for the hall. “Oh, and if you need anything just call on the servants and they will help you with whatever,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing from sight.

A heavy and awkward silence fell between them and it was broken after they heard the front door close shut behind Mrs Riddle.

“Sorry about my mother,” he said. “She still smothers me like a baby.”

“She’s nice,” she retorted. “My Uncle Marcus also gives me lots of hugs and kisses. I like them a lot, but sometimes he forgets to shave and then his beard scratches me and I don’t like it that much.”

“But does he talk to you as if you were still in diapers?”

She shook her head.

Tom sighed and rubbed his scar. “Lucky you then. If I hadn’t got this scar, I would probably have more freedom too,” he complained.

“Did you fall?”

He shook his head. “Another boy hit me with a rock. Looked like he wanted to kill me. I still don’t know what he meant when he called me ‘muggle’.”

Merope’s eyes widened at the name. The only people she knew that used that term were her father and brother and always as a means to insult. Could it possibly be her brother Morfin? She knew her father and brother had been in trouble with the police for attacking muggles, but could they have attacked Tom and his family?

“Do you know who he was?”

“No, and honestly, I don’t think I even want to know. But he looked … odd.”

“How so?”

“Like he was cross-eyed and his features were deformed and well, he looked more like a circus freak than anything else or a serial killer.”

Merope stiffened. While he didn’t provide a very detailed description of Morfin, he was indeed cross-eyed just like she was a few months ago and just like their father, he was violent, she would know after being on the receiving end of most of his violent outbursts.

With this in mind, she decided that she would never speak of her biological family to Tom, because she really didn’t want him to hate her for something her brother did to him.

“But let’s talk about something more pleasant.”

“Like what?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

“Uh … not really, or like a lot of things and I don’t even know where to begin.”

The governess, which Merope had forgotten completely was there with them, cleared her throat and made her own suggestion. “Perhaps you should first eat the biscuits and drink the tea before it gets cold, and while you’re at it you could get to know each other’s likes and dislikes. After the tea, you could go outside to play.”

“Great idea, Annie.” He turned to Merope and offered her his arm. He cleared his throat and said, “If you would follow me.”

She giggled and hooked her arm around his elbow and followed him to the sofa.


	7. Playdates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merope and Tom adopt a puppy and have lots of play-dates together.

They spent the following hour talking about their favourite and least favourite things. She learned that Tom’s favourite colour was green in all shades, but he wasn’t a fan of grey. In his opinion, it was a dull and lifeless colour, which reminded him of rainy days and he wasn’t particularly fond of them either.

“Why is that?” she asked him. “Don’t you like rain?”

“I do, actually,” he said after taking a sip of his black tea with milk and placing it on the saucer. “If I could, I would love to run in the rain and throw myself into muddy puddles, not that my parents would ever approve of such … primitive and improper behaviour, however, rain is usually accompanied by thunder and lightning and well …” he swallowed hard, his cheeks dusted with a pink hue, struggling to admit that …

Merope blinked in surprise. “Oh, you’re afraid of storms, aren’t you?” she concluded.

Tom’s cheeks flushed some more and he cleared his throat. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t spread it around.”

“I won’t,” she promised, in all her childlike seriousness. “I also don’t like storms, especially when they are close to our home, but when it happens I usually just curl up with my uncle for protection.”

“It’s nice to be a girl,” Tom commented with a self-deprecating grimace.

“How so?”

“You get to show weakness and emotion,” he explained, “because that’s how girls are: emotional and openly show it. I, on the other hand, have to appear strong all the time, not a single spec of weakness; otherwise, I would be branded as unmanly and weak.”

“But you’re still just a boy,” Merope argued, scandalised. “You’re not a man yet. You should be allowed to cry and show fear, every now and then.”

“Try telling that to my parents,” he grumbled into his teacup. “On one hand, they spoil me rotten and fuss over me, especially since I got hurt,” he rubbed his scar, “but they expect me to act like an adult and speak like one too, that means no whining or complaining and other unbecoming behaviour of an adult and a gentleman.”

Merope listened with attention to Tom’s troubles and mentally filed his concerns over the rigid and constraining rules and expectations placed on him for later. There was already an idea forming in her mind about how she would help him explore his unruly side, but she needed her uncle to help her. She only hoped it would work and that Marcus would agree to it.

“Anyway,” sighed Tom, changing the subject of their conversation, “what’s your favourite colour?”

“Purple,” she announced proudly. “What about your favourite animal?”

“I really like dogs, but not just any dogs, I really like big, heavy dogs, those that reach to an adult’s hip on their fours and, when they stand on their hind legs, they are as tall as an average grown-up. For example Alaskan malamute, Saint Bernard, English Mastiff, Rottweiler, Labrador, German shepherd, Leonberger, Tibetan Mastiff, and Newfoundland are like that.”

Merope’s mouth formed into an O shape and nodded numbly. Not that she knew most of those breeds, and how they looked like, but they sounded nice.

“If you like dogs so much, why don’t you have at least one?” she wondered, nibbling on a scone, trying to make sure that her lap didn’t end up full of crumbs.

“Because my parents don’t let me,” he sighed in defeat. “Especially my mother. She says a dog that size is going to ruin all the furniture and clothes and disturb any guests we might host, not to mention how high maintenance a large breed would be and there would be dog hair everywhere, then there is the problem of farts and the slobbering mess. Anyway, she thought of every possible reason for us not to have a dog, much less a large one. What about you? Do you like animals?”

“Uh … well,” she rested her hands on her lap and cradled her cup of tea, “I-I’m good with snakes. I think they are very fascinating and misunderstood creatures.” She brought the cup to her lips and made an awkward sip.

“You’re not afraid of them?” he pressed, his eyes filled with wonder.

She shook her head. “W-Why would I?” she wondered. “They can be nice if you treat them good, they have pretty patterns and colours, their scales are smooth, and some of them really like to be petted.”

“So they aren’t slimy?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why do they shine in the sun if they aren’t wet or slimy?”

“For the same reason that the floor does after you wax it,” Merope concluded with a sage-like voice.

Tom’s mouth fell open. “So … does that mean that snake scales are covered in wax?” he asked in awe.

“Probably.” She took another sip.

He looked like his mind had been opened to an entirely new world he didn’t know existed before.

After finishing their tea and snacks, the governess escorted the two to Tom’s room. It was big and full of things, with a large balcony overlooking the garden that had a fountain in the middle, decorated with flowers and sculptured bushes. A large bookshelf lined the wall to the left of the balcony. Half of it was filled with books and the other half was covered with toys, especially board games and different building sets and jigsaw puzzles. His bed and wardrobe were located next to the adjacent wall, opposite the fireplace. He even had his own bathroom.

Their time together was cut short another hour later when Marcus entered and beckoned her to join him, just as they were starting to have fun building a steam engine. She obeyed him reluctantly, doing her best to supress a pout, but reminded herself that there would be more opportunities for them to play and talk. In fact, as soon as they were in the carriage, she begged Marcus to invite Tom to their country house as soon as possible.

He laughed heartily at her tone, but agreed and ruffled her hair gently. A wide grin spread over her lips and she lunged herself at him, hugging him fiercely, while a delighted squeal left her mouth.

…

For the next week, Merope couldn’t focus on anything else but the arrival of the Riddles and kept asking him every day when they would finally come. When the day finally arrived, she was glued to the windowpane, peering intently at the mansion at the top of the hill, waiting to catch a glimpse of the carriage.

“Merope,” Harry began sternly, as soon as he entered the sitting room and saw her with her nose touching the glass, “Mary tells me that you are refusing to eat your lunch in favour of staring out the window.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, her eyes still on the mansion.

He let out a sigh, walked over to her and picked her up. She protested. “The carriage won’t arrive any faster with you staring at the mansion, young lady,” he pointed out.

“But –”

“They’ll arrive when they arrive,” he didn’t waver in his stance and tone. “Right now, we’re having lunch and you will eat your meal. Have I made myself clear?”

She looked displeased with him, but didn’t dare go against his authoritative words.

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing his lips to her cheek. “We’ll call on them around dinnertime. Would you like that?”

Her frown dissolved into a brilliant smile. She nodded with effusion, hugged his neck and squealed in delight, thanking him profusely. He chuckled. She was so easily pleased.

As the maids served the food and the butler was filling their glasses with freshly squeezed orange juice, Harry informed her of his progress of securing a Newfoundland puppy. Much to his surprise, that same day they were returning from the Riddles, Merope had approached him with an unusual request: she wanted a dog. Not just any dog, but a large breed. When he asked her what had brought about this sudden urge to own a canine, she told him about her conversation with Tom.

It would appear that the boy wanted to have a pet dog that could easily tower over an average adult while on hind legs, but his mother didn’t let him have one, so Merope thought they should own one so that Tom would come visit them more often in order to play with the dog he couldn’t own.

Seeing merit in Merope’s innocent plan, he went ahead, began looking for dog breeders of large, child-friendly dog species, and finally found one nearby that dealt with Newfoundland. The adult female had just given birth to a new litter of pups: three males and three females.

“However, we’ll have to wait for a few weeks, before bringing the puppy home. The owner says at least seven weeks.”

“Why so long?”

“It has to do with socialisation. The puppies need to be around their siblings to get a feel for the world around them.”

“Oh,” she looked dejected. “But, we’ll be able to go visit the puppies before we take them home right?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “In a couple of weeks, I’ll take you so you can look at them and choose the one you want.”

“Can Tom come with us, so he can choose too? It’s going to be his dog too.”

“If he wants.”

As soon as Merope informed Tom about the puppy, Tom was delighted to accompany them. Harry couldn’t help the amused grin on his face as he observed the two, surrounded by hyperactive Newfoundland puppies, trying to decide whether they should pick a girl or a boy, a black one or the white and black one. Tom wanted one and Merope wanted another.

“Help, Uncle Marcus,” Merope came running to him in distress. “This is horrible.”

“What’s the matter?”

“We can’t decide on the same puppy,” she exclaimed, looking like the world was ending.

“Well, what exactly seems to be the problem?”

“Tom wants a boy with black fur and I want a girl with white and black fur.”

“What an absolute horror,” he gasped in mock horror. The children didn’t register the mock part.

“What are we going to do now, Uncle?”

“Well, talk with each other and try to come to an agreement. Remember, we are only getting one puppy.” He could easily buy the entire litter, but he wanted them to talk out their differences and reach a compromise without having to resort to the easiest solution.

Merope looked ready to burst into tears.

“Crying won’t solve anything, Merope,” he gently scolded her. He will not let her use tears and temper tantrums as manipulation to get her own way. If she wanted something in life, she would have to work for it and earn it. It wasn’t as if he would never give in to some of her whims, but he was determined never to overindulge her.

In the end, after hours of them going back and forth providing their childish arguments for each of their choices, they reached a compromise. It would seem that Tom was willing to go with a female pup and Merope decided to go with Tom’s choice of fur colour.

Now that they had finally agreed on the sex and the fur colour, it came time for them to choose a name. They had difficulty agreeing on the name also. Tom wanted to name the pup Bella and Merope wanted to name her Donna.

“You know,” Harry intervened, “there is a plant that goes by the name of Belladonna and _bella donna_ also means beautiful woman in Italian so … what do you say? Wouldn’t both your chosen names combined suit the pup?” They exchanged gazes. “She is a girl and she is very cute.”

A minute of child contemplation later, they agreed to name her Belladonna.

…

While they waited for Belladonna to mature enough to leave her mother and siblings, Harry took Merope and Tom shopping for dog supplies in the last week of August. They bought lots of dog food from biscuits to canned meat, and toys, as well as a place for her to sleep in, a collar – which Harry went ahead and personalised – and a leash.

When it was time to pick up Belladonna and introduce her to her new house and family, Tom had already started attending the local primary school. Luckily, it wasn’t a boarding school, so Merope and he continued to see each other daily, if only after lunch, to walk, potty-train and play with Belladonna as well as teach her how to obey basic commands.

Not wanting Merope to abandon her studies, he took advantage of Tom attending school as an incentive to get her to pick up her own lessons again.

Before he knew it, Christmas was upon them and his relationship with the Riddles was blossoming. Tom’s father and he were in the process of launching their first joint collection scheduled for summer 1912 and starting New Year, they would start working on their limited Christmas and Valentine collections.

Tom and Merope were inseparable, though at this stage of their lives, they behaved more like siblings than potential love interests, and, in the privacy of his bedroom, Harry wondered if their relationship would ever evolve to that of lovers and spouses. He tried telling himself that it was still too early for any fatalistic scenarios to take place in his mind, but doubts ate away at him in the dead of night more often than not.

Like Christmas, Valentine’s Day came around fast and with it Merope’s fifth birthday. Then, a month later, Tom was celebrating his seventh birthday.

Harry went ahead and organised a small birthday party for his ward, where the guest of honour was Tom. With snow still covering most of the ground, Merope managed to convince Tom to participate in a snowball fight. The boy seemed reluctant for fear of his clothes being ruined and his mother scolding him for it, but Harry assured him he would take care of everything.

He was aware of the boy’s desire to engage in messy activities because Merope had informed him of them, much like she had informed him of the boy’s desire to own a giant dog, and he was willing to indulge the boy by using magic on his clothes to dry them quicker than usual or to clean them of dirt.

Every time he returned with fresh and clean clothes, after the children had gotten themselves damp playing in the snow, the rain or cleaning the dog or dirty rolling in the mud, the boy seemed to wonder how his clothes could look so pristine in no time at all. Merope shifted guiltily with an equally guilty expression on her face.

It wasn’t until July 1912 that Merope approached him with the question, if it was okay to tell Tom about magic. “I feel bad keeping it from him. I don’t like keeping things from Tom,” she whined.

“Maybe in a few years, Merope,” he said. “When he becomes more mature and is capable of understanding that magic is not something that is only bad and dangerous, but not now.”

Unfortunately, an incident that happened a month later forced Harry to break his own resolve to keep his soulmate’s father in the dark about magic, when during their play session, which consisted of climbing a tree, Tom fell and badly scraped his knees and palms.

Merope came looking for him, tears streaming down her cheeks saying that Tom had been hurt and that he was bleeding. Fear sprouted in Harry and held his heart, throat and gut in an iron grip. The simple notion of Tom – his soulmate’s father – being endangered in any way was enough to throw caution and common sense out the window.

He carried the sniffling boy to the sitting room, where he proceeded to disinfect the wound and apply a combination of essence of dittany and murtlap, which quickly sealed the wounds and prevented scarring. Tom stared in awe at his previously hurt knees and palms, and then looked up at Harry with the same kind of awe.

“How?” he asked, blinking confused.

Harry’s heart clenched in his chest at the resemblance between his soulmate and him. Why did they have to look so alike? It only served to remind him that he would have to wait for his soulmate for fourteen years to be born then wait another seventeen or so years to claim him, make him his.

He supposed he deserved to suffer like that for hurting him in the first place, for making him wait for decades, for hunting down his soul, piece by piece, destroying each one until nothing remained. Nothing to be reborn. Until he himself was nothing but a living carcass void of emotion.

Before he could answer Tom’s question, Merope, overcome with joy at seeing him cured, lunged herself at Tom, wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed in relief into his shoulder.

He hugged her back. “I’m fine now, Merope.”

“I’m just so happy you’re alright,” she sobbed, snot coming out of her nose and tears staining her flushed cheeks.

He rose to his feet and turned, ready to go and evade Tom and his question, but the boy called after him. “Sir, you still haven’t answered my question.”

He stilled, but refused to face him. “I promise to answer you with the truth,” he said, “but not today.”

“If not today, then when?” pressed Tom.

He thought about it. “On Christmas Day. Make sure to come visit … alone.”

“Is that a promise?” insisted Tom sceptically. “You won’t back away and come up with another excuse not to tell me the truth?”

A grin graced Harry’s lips at the haughty, aristocratic tone, the same one he remembered his soulmate using at Hogwarts and the orphanage. Like father, like son.

“It’s a promise, Tom. Now go back to what you two kids were doing, just try not to get yourselves hurt in the process again.”

With that, he left the room and cooped himself up in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! 😁 Sorry it took so long, hopefully the next update won't take me this long to write and publish, but don't expect weekly updates for this one. I'm barely halfway through the next chapter and I'm moving at a snail-like speed on this one for some reason. 😓 I just hope I'll be able to give you another chapter in December before the New Year, but I don't want to make any promises.
> 
> Anyway, what did you think of this chapter? Let me know. 😊 Tom and Merope are enjoying their time as kids, before Harry reveals to his soulmate's father that magic exists and that both he and Merope are magical.


End file.
